Excelsior
by YouKnowTheType
Summary: Detective Cutler has been transfered from the Narcotics Divison to the MCU. He has a lot to live up to and he may get the chance to show his merit when two psychopaths make their presence known. But will it be to much for even a genius to handle? TDK OC
1. Chapter 1: Two Years

**Just an FYI, I imagine Jace's laugh like Scarecrow's laugh in Batman: Arkham Asylum. This story takes place during The Dark Knight.**

**Prologue**

These are the private notes of Dr. Victoria Harrison and are meant to be used for review and research only. Patient's name is Jace Douglas. The patient was transferred to me after the incident with Dr. Young. Patient's ID is 71j6st47. The number is tattooed on the back of his neck. It is suspected to have been done by one of the other inmates when Jace was first admitted.

Jace Douglas was admitted into Arkham at the age of sixteen by his father after Jace attacked a fellow classmate with the sharp end of a broken ruler. The classmate was in the hospital for three weeks. When asked why he attacked the child, Jace responded that he thought the "brat might learn to shut his...mouth if he sees his…insides on the tile."

Jace's previous doctor, Dr. Penelope Young, diagnosed him as a schizophrenic, but his case notes suggest much more. Jace's behavior in the aftermath of his violent outbursts leaves me to believe him to have sociopath tendencies, though he didn't show it as a youth. He is incapable of feeling any remorse for his actions, no matter how heinous. Jace only feels joy in the harm of others, which he has displayed thoroughly in the brutal attack on his cellmate, James Lopez (deceased after screaming for several hours in the medical unit).

I do not argue Dr. Young's diagnoses. Jace is a clear schizophrenic, but it's rather undefined. His noticeable symptoms are as follows:

1. Anhendonia (Flat effect- his emotions will become covered by an involuntary "emotionless mask". This is an effect caused by his interaction with exciting stimuli.)

2. Decreased sensitivity to pain

3. Rigid muscles

4. Anger

5. Argumentativeness

6. Delusions (He believes this place to be his "neighborhood" and the other patients to be his neighbors. He thinks that the guards are watchdogs.)

7. Hallucinations (Auditory and Visual)

8. Violence (Normally brought on by his hallucinations or when his delusion's logic is threatened.)

9. Inappropriate laughter (I have yet to decide if this is a product of his schizophrenia or if he actually finds morbid discussion to be humorous.)

Jace will be turning eighteen in a year and, despite what the law says, I feel his release would only bring harm to himself and the people of Gotham. My pleas to the board, however, go on unnoted. The law states that a patient admitted before the age of eighteen must be released when they reach adulthood if they respond to treatment. I know Jace is only pretending to be cured; I've known him for only a few short weeks and I can tell his violent nature is just below the surface. He is a hostile predator by nature; his release would be a disaster. If the board does not wish to listen, then fine. As soon as he stops taking his medicine, I will see Jace here again. I can only hope that the authorities can catch Jace before he harms too many innocent bystanders.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

Drenched in sweat, the man blasted into an upright position in his bed. Tremors, reminiscent of earthquakes, rumbled from his bare chest and through his limbs; his breathing came in ragged gasps as he clenched the bed sheets, knuckles turning white. The guy's eyes were tight shut and he could not force himself to open them; or rather, he _would not_ force himself to peal back his eye lids in fear that, if he did, he would see the nightmare unleashed in all its bloody fury.

It's foolish and childish of the man to think in such a way, he knows. Even this logic, though, could not release the paled man from the terrors impairing his good senses. Nor could it prevent him from falling into a fetal position and spilling the liquid contents of his dark eyes. Only time could allow the man to, once more, control himself. He felt pathetic and weak.

The man wasn't sure how long he had spent laying there like a small child whose toy had been taken away but, eventually, he pulled himself up and his eyes slowly opened. The man's house was the same as normal; four white walls, white bed sheets, a toilet in the shadowy corner, white floor, white ceiling, and barred window.

The man had told the imbecilic watchdogs several times to take the stupid bars off of his window; they always said the same thing, 'Sorry, kid. It's policy.' Screw their _policy._ Policy was just another way of saying that The Higher Authority thinks a perfect society has bars on the windows.

The small clock on the floor of his one roomed house read five thirty-six; his alarm was not set to go off for another twenty-four minutes. The man could only find the energy to groan and flop back down into the bed, all thoughts of the hellish nightmare pushed to the back of his mind to dwell on later; perhaps during play-time? Vicky would love that.

The man lay there for what seemed like an hour even though his clock, graciously keeping him anchored in reality, informed him that it had only been a few minutes. Deciding that there was no chance of falling asleep again and muttering complaints under his breath, the man rose from his bed and approached the steal door; the only door in his house was painted white to match the walls and had a single small glass window which he could see his neighborhood. The neighborhood's single, white wall enclosed, street was vacant of people. Most of his neighbors didn't wake up for another few hours.

_Where the hell are the watchdogs?*click-click* I'm bored as hell in this shit hole!*click*_ came a whisper-like slimy voice; the voice was chilling, like hundreds of insects crawling up the man's spine and scraping his skin with their antennas.

The man turned around from the heavy door. To anyone ignorant of the truth, the room would have been empty but he knew better; the man was enlightened. He knew the truth. Aluminum was who had spoken; the man knew that voice _anywhere_. Aluminum had been with the man since the beginning and had been visiting by crawling through the quarter sized hole in the left corner of the room, the only corner that was always in shadows. Aluminum mainly liked it because it was the corner behind the toilet.

Aluminum skittered to the edge of the hole, exposing his long antennas which sat atop his head. The guy looked down at him, and then slid down the wall to rest on the floor, "You're too early. You know I never eat breakfast before seven."

_*click-click* I know that_, Aluminum released a wet hiss, using his six hairy legs to craw foreword enough to expose his thorax, _I herd you were awake *click-click* and came to *click* see what was wrong *click-click-click*_.

"I'm fine," the man responded, ignoring the people in his skull. They were all talking at once so he couldn't understand what they were telling him.

_*click-click* Why are you awake so early? Play-time isn't till six-thirty…*click*_, Aluminum scurried to the man's side and used his antennas to sniff the man's left hand, …_and I just _love_ listening to you talk with the pretty-pretty doc-torrrr…_ He dragged out the last syllable in a damp clicking sound as if he were _actually _attracted to that bitch…

"Don't talk about her that way…," the man growled, "it's _disgusting_. She's beneath even _your_ intelligence."

Aluminum screeched and clicked in indignation, his voice dripping with annoyance, _*click* No need to get piss-y, Jace…I'm only saying what you'rrrrre…thinking._

Jace's black soulless eyes narrowed to thin slits and he flicked his wrist, flinging Aluminum across the house. Aluminum screeched again before landing on his back, legs scrambling.

_*click-click-click-click* **Fuck you, Jace** *click-click-cli-*_

"**Shut** **the** **fuck** **up**!" screamed Jace as his eyes snapped shut. He clutched his head and pulled at his hair line as if his brain was being forced through a paper shredder, "**_Get out_**!"

This stopped Aluminum's frantic clicking, if only for a moment, before he started clicking again in that revolting tone of his. As soon as he flipped himself over, Aluminum hissed right through the hole in the wall of Jace's house without another word.

Jace began pacing in tension filled silence for several minutes. His fingers were trembling with fury and his nails were digging into his hairline. Then he started shouting in incorrigible anger and began slamming his tightened fists against the steal door: over and over…and over again.

With one final sickening crunch of his hand against the metal he screamed in anger and paced around the four-corner house a few more times, then slammed himself onto his bed. Jace could hear the dogs lumbering their fat-asses down the hallway. Jace laughed. His laugh, something supposed to be contagious and joyful, was high pitched and inhuman. It sent shivers down the spine of anyone unfortunate enough to hear it.

"_What the hell is goin' on?"_ came the voice of one familiar sounding mutt. Jace's cackle halted.

"_How the hell should I know?"_ Jace didn't know this voice…He didn't like that…he didn't like people he didn't know coming around his neighborhood …Jace decidedly despised this unnamed voice. He shifted his body into a standing position and stared at the door.

The unnamed voice continued, _"He just started shouting and there was a bunch of banging!"_

Jace knew they were outside his door now.

"_Shit,"_ the familiar mutt breathed, _"This kids a real piece of work…Get ready and open the door!"_

The door flew open and Jace lunged.

"Gaa_ahhhhh_! _Get 'im off! Get 'im off me!_"

"Jesus! He's got Harry!"

* * *

><p><em>The following year…<em>

Jace stared at the bruja's freshly shaved legs which she had no problem showing off with her thigh length skirt; the whore. Nobody else dressed like that in Jace's neighborhood, and he didn't like it when she acted differently than the other doctors.

The witch turned on her recording machine and spoke to it, "June 6th. These are my final minutes with Patient ID 71j6st47, Jace Douglas, who is scheduled to be released at the end of this session."

Jace's doll-like eyes met the doctor's, "Can we make this quick, Vicky? I have places to go, people to see. I've been in here so long, _two_ _years_, and I'm ready to see how my city has changed without me.

Dr. Harrison hated it when he called her Vicky; it represented an eerie closeness between the two. A closeness which frightened her. She frowned, "I'm certain you'll be back soon."

Jace looked amused, a rare emotion for him. He almost looked human to the doctor, but she knew better. He chuckled, "If you really want me to, I _could_ visit every once in a while. Only to see how you are doing, of course, Vicky."

Dr. Harrison's anger was palpable, "If it were my decision, you would never leave solitary confinement."

Jace sighed, a small smile on his face, "Then I am thankful, Doctor, that my fate was not left in your hands."

"The board of advisors has fallen for your act. Even I'm amazed you've kept control of yourself up till now, but I know you haven't changed from that monster that stabbed your classmate and killed James Lopez. Not to mention your attack on Officer Harry Mitchell last year," Harrison growled.

Jace put on his, well practiced, innocent face, "That was a long time ago, Doctor. I've already told you I apologized for all those…_incidents._ Forgive me, Vicky, for I have seen the error of my ways."

The doctor scoffed, "You're incapable of feeling remorse! And you didn't apologize because you were sorry, you apologized, _only_, because you got caught!"

Jace's smile grew large when there was a knock at the door, "Trust me, doctor. _You_ won't be seeing me in that red jumpsuit ever again."

Jace stood just as the doctor did. He towered over the doctor by an intimidating foot. They were standing very close; Harrison felt immensely uncomfortable but refused to back down first. Jace's chest grazed her own when he breathed, "I can promise you that, Vicky."

He stepped back and she paused for only a moment, staring at him, before walking to and opening the door. Officer Jacobs would be escorting Jace out; it was fitting in a way. Officer Jacobs had been the one to bring Jace to his first cell, and to his first, and last, cellmate.

"Come on, Douglas," Jacobs commanded stiffly. He clearly hadn't forgiven Jace's momentary laps of control on the rookie, Harry Mitchell, the previous year.

The doctor stayed behind in her office, watching Jace closely from the door, as if he would do something, anything, to stop himself from being free from this place. No, he had already decided he would never be held captive here again. He wouldn't, _couldn't_, ruin this.

Jace looked back at the doctor as he walked away at a leisurely pace next to the guard. Yes, Jace mentally rejoiced, he was _walking next to the guard_. Not being dragged, or held by the arm. He was walking freely, as if he was trusted. Jace liked the feeling.

"Goodbye, Vicky. I enjoyed our time together." Jace breathed, looking at the doctor from underneath his eye lashes. Harrison scowled and slammed her office door closed. Jace's grin was much too big for his face.

He had won.


	2. Chapter 2: Detective Mark Cutler

_**Chapter 2: M. Cutler**_

_If one were to be traveling along Interstate 95 and were to take a turn off the main road, they would be greeted with a terribly gruesome sight. A car wreck; one car, which has swerved off of the road and into a tree, is steaming from the engine. A body remains in the driver's seat. Her eyes are open and staring in a look of frustration; as if she was arguing with me._

_There is blood everywhere as she moves her mouth, trying to say something. I don't move…I'm unsure of what to do as the woman clutches my hand. I have already called the accident in. An ambulance is on the way, but I know it won't make it in time._

"_euh-I-," she manages before coughing up more blood. A strong tree branch has punctured her lung. I still do nothing. What _can_ I do?_

_I feel that I should say something as she struggles to speak to me, but I remain silent with my mouth slightly agape. Her blood-shot eyes lock with mine and she looks like she's in so much pain._

"_Ma'am," I finally choke out, but somehow I know it's to late. Her bloody coughing has stopped and her once tight grip on my hand loosens. But her hand is still warm on mine._

"_Ma'am," I yelp, loader this time. Not willing to accept anything but an answer from her. She says nothing._

_I don't want to look at her anymore, it's almost as if looking at her finalizes what I refuse to believe. I slowly pull my way out of the shattered window behind me._

_The other car, my partner's cruiser, has spun out and into a sideways fit, blocking any traffic that may later come through the currently deserted road. But otherwise it has taken no damage._

_I'm bleeding heavily from my head; must have hit it during the crash. My conscious mind is fuzzy as I look around the deserted road. Everything is surreal, until my partner stirs in the cruiser._

_My partner, Jerry, stumbles out of the driver side door of the cruiser._

_Jerry is shocked to see the me emerge the passenger side window of the first car; I'm shaken to the core and tremors of shock rumble through my body. Blood remains covering my face, but I am mostly unscathed by the collision._

"_Jerry!" I call as I make my way over to him. Then, Jerry did the unthinkable; he pulled his gun._

"_Freeze!" he shouts, pointing his gun at my face. I did just as he asked, only a few yards from him now. The shaking of my body stops and I stare at Jerry's dazed eyes._

_BANG!_

I blasted into an upright position in the guestroom bed of my apartment, dazed. After several minutes, I decided that there was no chance of falling asleep again and, muttering complaints under my breath, rose from the bed.

After about ten minutes, I had finished distracting myself with showering and attending to the hygiene of my teeth and the dark, unkempt, mess that was my hair. I stared at my reflection; muscled and tall with black eyes and hair. All sense of the word 'imposing.' I, being in all meanings of the phrase "married to the job," couldn't help but find this to be an asset to my career. I was meant to hunt criminals, tear their lies apart, and make them squeal.

Done with my minute of vanity, I walked to my closet and pulled on a black muscle shirt and dark jeans. Grabbing a coat and putting on shoes, I left my apartment after eating breakfast; exiting the apartment building, whilst checking for my wallet, I waved down a taxi. It took much longer than it would have had I walked, but somehow I arrived at work exactly the right time at the Gotham Major Crimes Unit.

Walking in, I noticed two things; one, I wasn't the only one running late, or rather _on time_. There were several of my new colleagues rushing about the station; that's Monday for you. And two, as soon as I entered the reasonably sized busy room separating me from my desk, someone else stood. That someone had been waiting on me, and I had a pretty good guess as to who it was. Doctor Penelope Young, one of the psychiatrist from Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. She was young, only working at the asylum for a few short years, with mousey brown hair and blue eyes.

"Detective Cutler," she called and I motioned for her to follow me to my desk. I was less than thrilled to see her. When I was working in the Narcotics Unit, she had declared two of my suspects insane, getting them out of some jail time. It had become obvious to me that the doctor was being paid off by someone…but I had no physical evidence to make any accusations.

As a an awesome movie pointed out, "It's not what you know, it's what you can prove in court."

"Doctor Young," I stated with slight distaste, "You're here earlier than expected."

"Yes," she agreed, "I had a previous engagement which brought me to this part of town. I assumed you wouldn't have a problem with me stopping in early; although, I _also_ assumed you wouldn't be running late this morning."

I ignored the arrogant tone to her voice, one that all the doctors at Arkham shared, and instead nodded in response; I motioned for her to sit down. I sat opposite her, behind my desk and waited expectantly.

"Would you care to elaborate as to exactly why you're here in the first place," I questioned, looking for lies written in the Doctor's face, "Your phone call wasn't very specific."

A frown etched it's way onto my face as Doctor Young responded, speaking to me as if I were an imbecile, "I'm here on behalf of Mr. Kyle Haley. I believe his client, Damon Rice, to have suffered a psychotic break. I am recommending him to be transferred to Arkham immediately."

"Another one, hn," I couldn't stop my lips from moving as I searched for Rice's file, a glare on my face.

Young sounded offended as she responded with a sharpness in her voice, "It seems that that sort of work attracts unstable minds."

I remembered another doctor from Arkham saying something similar to a friend of mine a while back; a doctor who tried to destroy every mind in Gotham not to much later. My black eyes met her blue ones for a brief moment, then I pulled out the coveted file and placed it on my desk. I spoke as I opened the file and scanned through the pages, "So it would seem."

I wasn't convinced of the doctor's ploy; Rice was fully aware of what he had done, that much was clear. I mean, for the love of God, the man _confessed_. Young frowned, hearing the skeptic implications in my response, "I have a full summary of my diagnosis here," she handed me a small packet of paperwork.

I glanced up at her, placing the packet on the top of the file. She rose an eyebrow when I continued to look for traces of dishonesty about her. I blinked, not finding anything amiss with her facial features, although I was still annoyed by the woman's presence, "I'll file it with the DA's office. But, why bother going through me? You could have taken it directly there."

She glared in response, "As I recall, it was _you_ who insisted that anything of importance involving 'your cases' to go through you first, Mr. Cutler. I assume you wouldn't have changed your mind simply bacause you now report to a different department."

My eyes snapped up from the papers on my desk to meet her eyes once more, not liking the attitude; due to practice and effort, I was able to keep the annoyance out of my voice, "Ah, yeah. Right you are, Doctor. Thank you."

Young stood, slightly glaring at me, and I followed suit; she excused herself to so called 'important matters' and left. I stared after her, then sat back down at my desk. I growled in annoyance as I skimmed through the psychologist's report. The boss-man was going to want to know about this. I sighed as I stood, knowing my new boss wasn't going to be happy about the turn of events. I shrugged off my jacket and hung it over my chair before walking to the north side of the busy and noisy room.

I knocked on the open office door and glanced into the room, checking for the boss-man. I noted the papers stacked and strewn across the office desk; an attempt at order in the paper chaos. A man with brown hair, graying at the sides, and glasses was sitting behind the fairly nice desk; there was no mistaking Lieutenant Gordon. He was the perfect picture of consensual insomnia.

"Sir," I called cautiously. I hadn't been able to meet my boss yet, which I found strange and off-putting. Since I joined the MCU, Gordon had been running around everywhere; busy as hell, I hoped, seeing as I hadn't even met the man who had requested me, by name, to be transferred to this unit. All I knew was I was here to replace Detective Daniels who had retired the previous year. The other dectectives couldn't tell me anything else.

Gordon glanced up before tilting his head up , "Can I help you…?"

I grimaced, my boss didn't even know who I was, "Detective Cutler, Sir. I'm Detective Daniels' replacement…"

A look of realization dawned on Gordon's face, "Oh…I'm very sorry about that...Mark, right? [I'm] Lieutenant Jim Gordon."

I nodded and shook Gordon's outstretched hand, "Yeah, Nice to meet you, Sir. I'm sorry to say that I didn't come with good news."

Gordon sighed, returning his attention to the manila folders on his desk, "Does anyone now-a-days? Well, how bad can it be?"

I handed Young's report over to my, now aquatinted, boss, "Doctor Young just declared Damon Rice insane."

Gordon released a frustrated breath, "Another one?"

I almost smiled at the similarity of his words to my own, "Seems so."

"I'll get it to Dent," Gordon huffed absent mindedly. I nodded and was about to leave, but then he spotted a familiar face in a picture on Gordon's desk. I paused for only a second, staring at the photo, before heading towards the door.

Gordon's voice stopped me, "What's wrong, Detective?"

I started; my pause hadn't gone unnoticed. I looked back at Gordon, "It's nothing, Sir. I just was wondering if that case folder your looking at had anything to do with the other recent bank robberies, but then I saw the picture so you don't have to answer."

Gordon raised an eyebrow, "How'd you know I was looking at a bank-robbery?"

I grimaced as if my hand had been caught in the proverbial cookie jar, "A few quick glances at the right pieces of paper…sorry, I didn't mean to read over your shoulder, so to speak."

Gordon stared at me for a moment, then chuckled a bit and held up the thick file to my surprised figure.

"Fresh eyes couldn;t hurt," he reasoned with himself.

I tried to hide my excitement; I didn't want to seem unprofessional. Opening the file, my assumed answer to my question was immediately confirmed. Several security camera snapshots of the man, who called himself 'The Joker', were the first items in the file.

"Same guy," I asked just for show; the inferences I had made earlier had informed me of this answer.

"Unfortunately, yes," Gordon responded, "But there's a plus."

I looked up from the folder in my arms and rose a skeptical eyebrow, "Which is?"

Gordon looked more than a little pleased with himself, "Some of the bills left behind were marked bills we had Narcotics give the mob's drug dealers."

"Marked bills? As in radiated?" I asked, impressed, "How'd you get those bad-boys?"

"I have a few friends in the right places," Gordon responded slyly.

My eyes returned to the file. I could guess, based on rumors back from the Narcotics Unit, where those bills had actually come from, but I couldn't deny their effectiveness. I found myself mildly annoyed with Gordon's connection with the vigilante, who we're meant to arrest on sight. Then again, I was a bit envious.

"That makes five banks…so you've found the last bit of their blood money, hn?" I asked, returning form my mental musings.

I was blown away by Gordon's determination; he didn't seem the type who would sleep 'till his city was safe. I commended Gordon's faith, but didn't necessarily agree; it was easy to lose hope for such a corrupted city. Then again, being from New Orleans originally, I had grown up hearing horror stories about Gotham City and the infamous Narrows. I had never had the intention of living here until I was accepted by Gotham University with the help of the Wayne Scholars Foundation.

"We're going to have to strike all five banks simultaneously, otherwise they'll move their stash before we have time to get to the rest," Gordon said, matter-of-fact.

I paused in my reading, and gestured to the file in my hands, "What about him?" I had been referring to the picture of The Joker.

"I think that one can wait, Cutler. Forgive me, but I would have assumed you of all people would kill for this opportunity at the mob," Gordon said, implying at my rumored agressiveness when it came to the American Mafia; it had been a renown hatred back at the Police Academy. Or rather, I was disgusted how low the scumbags were willing to sink for a few extra bucks.

I let a small smile grace my features as I looked at Gordon, "The mob can be bothersome, but I can't help but wonder how you're going to get the DA to warrant this without telling him what you're looking for?"

If I was being tested, I could only assume I passed from the dumbfounded look on Gordon's face, "And why wouldn't I tell the DA?"

I frowned, hesitant to admit that I had overheard the other detective's discussions, "I've heard some disturbing rumors about Dent's office."

Gordon stared, "Well, normally I wouldn't recommend that you base your assumptions on rumors, Detective."

My frown morphed into a stern serious look I had learned from my father, "Right, Sir."

With a small smile, Gordon motioned for the file. I handed to him and made for the door once again. I heard the Lieutenant pick up the sleek office phone and begin dialing before his voice stopped me.

"Oh and Cutler, tell Ramirez to take you with her; she's about to head over to a crime scene and I think you two will work well together," he said. I turned back, stopping only a moment to nod, before heading out the door.

Had I just been assigned a partner? I sighed; I was going to need a cup of coffee and a strong one at that.

* * *

><p><strong>Now that I've introduced the main characters, Detective Mark Cutler and Jace Douglas, my plot line can now unfold.<strong>

**BTW: Yes, this does take place during The Dark Knight.**

**R&R**


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